


It goes and it's golden (like sands of time)

by apfelhalm



Series: Born naked [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Drag Queens, Backstory, Character Development, Drag Queens, Gen, M/M, Prequel, Singing, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-08 21:32:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12873453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apfelhalm/pseuds/apfelhalm
Summary: "Do you ever, like, think of yourselves in ten, twenty years?" Zayn asks the ceiling, his head and skin buzzing comfortably with alcohol."What is this, a job interview?" Harry giggles."No, I mean ... do you think you're going to do this forever? Be a drag queen for the rest of your lives?"One day, Harry and Niall will stop going in circles, Liam will figure himself out and Louis will maybe even learn his own worth. One day. But this is not their story. This is Zayn's.[prequel to "We're all born naked"]





	It goes and it's golden (like sands of time)

"Zayn, be a doll and fetch me that hairspray, will you?"

Louis waves in the general direction of where he expects the can of hairspray to lie around, still busy with lacing Harriette into her waist cincher. Harriette grunts pitifully.

"I shouldn't have had that burger earlier."

"Well, we all make poor life choices and now you'll have to live with yours. We're on stage in less than half an hour."

Louis rolls his eyes exhasparatedly. He's not even half done with his own makeup, having assisted first Zayn and now helping Harriette. It's alright, though: if anyone of them can throw together a decent makeup in less than half an hour it's probably Louis.

Zayn gets up to look for the hairspray. "There are a lot of people out there. A lot more than last time." Or the time before that. Or the time before _that._

It's a little mindblowing how successful their little number has become, gaining more and more awareness with every performance. Zayn isn't sure how he feels about that, especially since it all started for him with a drunken dare and the need for some money. He didn't mean for it to become such a big thing.

"The audience loves the Rude Girls," Louis shrugs, finally done with Harriette's cincher and catches the hairspray from Zayn. He applies a generous amount on Harriette's pink wig and then leaves her with a clap on the bum to get ready himself.

"Do you think Niall's going to be here?" Harriette asks casually, applying one more layer of liploss in front of the mirror. She's been asking a lot about Niall lately.

"Might be," Zayn shrugs, trying to ignore how the fabric of his tights itches against his thigh. He's not even on stage yet and he's sweating already. "I think he's got a shift tonight."

"I know who's definitely going to be here," Louis says, halfway through becoming Tommo, a lewd tone in his voice. Zayn has to think for a moment, but then he lets out a groan.

"You mean that bloke from last time? What's his name? Brandon?"

"That guy's a disaster waiting to happen," Harriette chimes in and Zayn couldn't agree more.

"His name's Ben and I don't care what you think. Have you seen his arms and his arse? He can run away like all the other ones as long as I get to tap that." Louis twists his red lips into a grin, waggling his painted on eyebrows, but Zayn has known him too long to be fooled. Underneath the layers and layers of powder and makeup, he's gone all soft and his voice gets the tiniest bit hopeful at the end of the sentence. He likes that Ben, more than he cares to admit.

Zayn wishes Louis would stop going after the blokes who are most likely to break his heart, wishes he could protect him somehow, wishes that someone would finally see how beautiful he is, in and out of drag. He hopes that Ben may be that one, for Tommo's sake, but it's not very likely. Zayn is a good judge of character.

"I don't want you to get hurt," he says, just as Tommo puts on her wig, securing it to her head with hairpins. "Just be careful."

"You know I never am." She shrugs and winks at him, but there's a grateful curl of a smile around her lips.

"Come on girls, we're up next!"

Harriette claps her hands, ushering them to get a move on. She takes both their hands, pulling them along towards the stage. The closer they get, the louder the humming and buzzing of the crowd gets. Zayn can feel his stomach flutter, but Tommo squeezes his hand and lets out an excited giggle.

"Let's rock that stage!" she shouts. Harriette hoots and then there's the blinding light of the spotlights and Zayn doesn't have the time to think anything for quite a while.

*

"'Scuse me ... sorry ... can I just- thanks ..."

Zayn squeezes past a group of girls giggling and chatting excitedly, scanning the club for a familiar face. He has lost Harriette some time ago - a girl was flirting outrageously with her and pulled her to the dance floor - and he hasn't seen Tommo since their show has ended. It was a huge success and they left the stage to wild applause and whistling, but now the high he felt has faded. He feels like he's melting underneath his wig and one of his fake breasts has slipped out of place.

He is just trying to move past another couple when he feels a hand stroking up his leg and getting a good feel of his arse.

"Hey!" He whirls around, swaying a little on his heels. There's a bloke with a sly grin on his lips, eyeing him up and down like piece of meat.

"Hey there, gorgeous. Do I know you?"

_I was right on that stage half an hour ago, don't give me that line_ , Zayn thinks. "Did you just grope me?"

"Yeah," the guy says, completely unapologetical, "want me to do it again?"

He puts his hands on Zayn's hips, pulling him closer, unasked and rough. His breath smells of alcohol and he's got the glazed look of a troublemaker who probably won't take no for an answer. Zayn knows these kinds of guys - he's been dealing with them even as a man, but now the encounters are growing in frequency whenever he's in drag.

"You do know I'm a man, right?" he tries, because some tend to back off at that reminder, too stupid, too drugged or too far in the closet to acknowledge who they're talking to.

"So? We can just pretend," the guy slurs, tightening his grip on Zayn's waist and smiling a sickeningly lewd smile. "It's gonna be our little secret."

Oh, he hates those guys the most: out at night to find themselves a nice piece of arse, only to return to their painfully straight lives at day and make everyone else's lives a living hell. Zayn feels like retching.

"I think not."

He tries to wiggle out of the grip, but the bloke is strong, really strong, and also starting to look cross when he realises he's not getting what he wants. Well, shit. Zayn is not exactly helpless, but he prefers not to start a brawl with lads twice his size, much less in those heels.

Just when he braces himself to make a run for it, someone clasps the guy's shoulder in a tight grip. "Is there a problem here?"

Zayn has never been so happy to see Niall in his life before.

"I don't know. Is there, luv?" drunk groper asks, barking out a laugh.

"No, since you were just going to leave." Zayn flutters his fake lashes, putting on a sugary smile. Anyone not utterly pissed would take it as the sarcastic brush-off that it is, but the guy furrows his brow in confusion.

"No, I-"

"Maybe you should go and check on your mates," Niall talks over him, patting his shoulder. "I think they were looking for you."

There's a good-natured smile on his lips, but the insistence in his voice and the way he's not letting go of that man's arm tells another story. It's always fascinating, watching Niall deal with rude customers: he looks like he wouldn't hurt a fly - he wouldn't, actually - and people always seem to bend over backwards to get along with him. It's a talent, really, and Niall is working his magic right now.

Drunk groper blinks several times, seeming confused that someone like Niall dares to get in his way, but then he seems to remember the comment about his friends and he starts to nod slowly.

"Yeah, I'll just ... yeah."

He starts staggering away and Niall helps by pushing him along friendly but insistently until he's disappeared into the crowd. What a tosser. Zayn lets out the breath he didn't know he was holding, leaning against Niall.

"Thanks, mate. You're a lifesaver."

"Don't mention it. I've been having an eye on that one since he stepped into the club. Maybe we should tell security to throw him out."

"You do that," Zayn says, remembering what he wanted to do before he got groped, "but have you seen Tommo?"

Niall raises his eyebrows, pointing past Zayn to one of the darker corners of the club. Sure enough, there's Tommo: pressed up against the wall by Brandon/Benji/what's-his-name, his tongue down her throat and her hands on his arse. She seems happy for now, most certainly enthusiastic about slipping her fingers past the waist of his jeans - but not very likely to join Zayn at the bar.

"Ah, I see."

He deflates, feeling tired all of a sudden, boneless, like the night has been going on forever. Or maybe it's been too many nights just like this: the stress of being on stage, rude customers, Tommo out to get her heart broken, Harriette off to break hearts herself. Zayn isn't sure which.

Niall nudges him lightly, a sympathetic smile on his face. "Wanna join me at the bar? Drinks on me."

"Thanks, but I think I'm going to call it a night."

"Need to borrow a jacket?" he asks, eyeing Zayn's flimsy costume.

"I'm good. Unless you have an extra pair of shoes to spare." Zayn looks down at his 10 cm heels and his feet that already start to feel numb. No matter how often he has done this, the shoes are something he's never going to get used to. He's already dreading the walk home.

But because Niall's Niall and also bloody brilliant, he grins and says: "actually, I do."

*

He didn't mean for it to happen. He wasn't even looking for another job, really, but there it is, an opportunity he can't possibly say to no to.

He stares at the card being offered before he shakes out of his hesitation and takes it. He's not sure if he heard the lady correctly - the music's pretty loud and it's been his fourth, maybe fifth drink.

"You want to hire me?"

"We're having an event for our company and the DJ we hired turned us down at short notice. We need a replacement very quickly and I'm quite liking what you're doing at this party." She smiles - Carol was it? - and raises her eyebrows questioningly. "So, what do you think?"

"I, uh," says Zayn sophisticatedly, scrunching up his nose in confusion. He was just helping out a mate by putting on some music - he wasn't prepared for this.

"Think about it," Carol says when he's still not answering, patting his arm lightly. "And call me once you've made up your mind."

She waves him a little goodbye, weaving her way through the crowd back to her friends or maybe co-workers. One of them asks her something and she points in Zayn's direction. The bloke looks up at Zayn, throwing him a friendly, crinkly-eyed smile, and then a bunch of people walk through Zayn's line of sight. When they've passed, Carol and her friends have vanished and it's like she was never there.

He has her card, though. It looks professional enough and the name of her company sounds vaguely familiar, one of those names you hear once in a while but usually fly under the radar. Well, at least it isn't a pretense for a chat-up (probably, though Zayn has had some crazy experiences concerning that).

He puts the card in the back pocket of his jeans, where it seems to burn hotly for the rest of the night.

"So, anything exciting happened at the party?" Louis asks with a grin, throwing himself at Zayn for an extensive cuddle. His fling with Brandon/Benji/what's-his-name has been going well which means he's been in a good mood lately.

Zayn remembers the offer and the card in his pocket and there's a weird fluttering in his chest.

"Not really," he says, not exactly sure why he's lying. Or omitting the truth, more like.

He wraps his arms around Louis, who makes a contented noise and smiles at him smugly. There's a glint of mischief in his eyes and it looks like he's got some crazy idea in his mind that he's going to let Zayn know about any minute.

Zayn likes this Louis best: the one that's wild and reckless and cracks jokes simply because he means them, not to hide the hurt and disappointment people keep throwing at him. It's been a while since Zayn got to see him like this and he wants to keep it, preserve it for as long as possible.

It's a good thing, though, that job offer, he tries to tell himself. He should be excited about it.

It's a good thing, he tells himself when he dials Carol's number the next day.

He gets the job, but he tells no one about it.

*

Ben is a twat.

Zayn isn't one to judge quickly or harshly, but there's just something about Louis' new - can you call it boyfriend? - fling that rubs him the wrong way. Maybe it's his terrible sense of humour. Or lack thereof.

"... and then we just dumped the whole bucket of water on him," Louis finishes, winking at Zayn, "didn't we, mate?"

Harry and Niall snort with laughter and Zayn smiles fondly. Ben mostly looks confused and vaguely annoyed, still nursing his first beer.

"So Zayn, do you have a boyfriend? Girlfriend? Both?" he looks like he made a brilliant joke, but Zayn doesn't feel very much like laughing.

"Neither."

"I have a couple of friends who might be right up your alley. I could give them your number if you want or whatever."

"Thanks," says Zayn, furrowing his eyebrows, "I'm good."

"Zayn has standards, you know," Louis explains with a cheeky grin. "He can't be just dating anyone. Where would that lead us? He might end up dating me."

He winks and leans over to steal some of Zayn's crisps, but Ben is having none of it and pulls him back immediately. Louis squeaks and wriggles until he's sitting on Ben's lap and only stops to flail around when Ben shoves a hand under his shirt and starts kissing his neck.

"So Ben, do you like singing?" Niall asks. Ben pauses, the look on his face somewhere inbetween incredulous and scoffing.

"Singing? Oh hell no. I like to watch, but I'm not one for the stage."

"Aw, that's a pity," Harry sounds disappointed. "There's a karaoke night at the 1D once a month and it's a bit of a ritual for us to go there."

"Sorry, lads. Can't hold a tune to save my life. I do have other qualities, don't I, Louis?" he cackles a little and Zayn feels very much like rolling his eyes.

"Oh, really, what kind?" he throws in sweetly and maybe he sounds as sarcastic as he feels, because Ben throws him a sour look. He has his hand on Louis' hip and squeezes tightly, apparently a little too tightly, because Louis lets out another squeak and slips off his lap.

"That hurt," he hisses, sliding over to Zayn for a cuddle and Ben's eyes narrow down to slits. If looks could kill, Zayn would be bleeding out now. He finds that he doesn't care all that much and glares right back.

There's an awkward silence for a minute until Niall slaps his hand on the table, gets up and beams at them all.

"So ... more drinks?"

*

Something's off with the sound. The event is about to start in fifteen minutes and _something is off with the sound_.

Zayn looks at the cable clutter in front of him, at a loss and growing more desperate by the minute. He's checked every setup at the DJ console but found nothing, so it has to be something about the hardware and fuck if he knows what to do with that. He knows how to use a DJ console, but that doesn't mean he understands every single wire in it.

"Do you need help?"

He looks up to find a bloke smiling at him, friendly and expectant. Something about him feels vaguely familiar. "Yeah. I think something's wrong with the sound but I can't make out where it's coming from."

He gets back behind the console and plays a few riffs to get his point across. The bloke frowns and then nods. "I hear what you mean. The pitch isn't right. Let me have a look."

He kneels down in front of the console, almost disappearing in the tangle of cables, unplugging and plugging some ports. "Alright," he says, his voice muffled, "try again."

Zayn lets another stretch of music play and whatever the guy did down there, it seems to have worked. "Sick. Thanks, mate."

The guy crawls back out from under the console, dusting off his trousers and offering him a hand. "No problem. I'm Liam, by the way. I work for Carol."

Zayn takes his hand and doesn't miss the way Liam's gaze sweeps over him from head to toe or how the glint in his eyes turns vaguely interested. Huh. Well, it's not like he's not used to people checking him out and at least Liam isn't overly obtrusive about it. He seems nice, actually, maybe a bit too polite and shy, but between Harry, Louis and Niall, Zayn can use a little polite and shy.

"I'm Zayn," he says, smiling back. "You're tech support, then?"

"Not really, no. But it's a bit of a hobby of mine and I usually end up helping at company events." Liam laughs, his eyes crinkling charmingly around the corners and that's when Zayn realises where he's seen him before.

"You were at the party, weren't you? With Carol?"

"Yeah, I was." Liam looks a bit surprised, but then nods. "You did such a great job there and Carol was desperate to find a replacement, so I encouraged her to ask you."

"So I've got you to thank for that job?" Zayn grins. "Let me buy you a pint for that sometime."

Interestingly enough, Liam's cheeks turn faintly pink at that. "That'd be- that would be great." He smiles again, but this time he seems slightly confused, wringing his hands nervously. "Uhm, so I've got to get back to the others. My girlfriend's waiting downstairs."

"Sure." Girlfriend? Well if that's not a heartbreak waiting to happen. "See you later?"

"Perhaps," Liam says and then, because he really is as nice as he seems, he puts on another genuine smile. "Good luck with the show."

"Thanks."

Zayn watches him disappear at the other end of the hall, side-stepping a caterer carrying a huge plate of canapés, and then he's gone. The room is buzzing with anticipation, helpers walking around everywhere, some of them equipped with clipboards and shouting orders.

It hits Zayn then, that his gig is about to start any minute, and he is overcome with a sudden bout of nausea. This isn't just a small house party, not just a favour for a mate. It's a real proper DJ job and if he plays his cards right, it could be the first of many.

_Please don't let me fuck this up_ , he thinks and wipes his sweaty hands over his jeans.

He doesn't - fuck it up, that is - and the buzz of it carries him through the rest of the week.

*

"Do you ever, like, think of yourselves in ten, twenty years?" Zayn asks the ceiling, his head and skin buzzing comfortably with alcohol.

They're all sprawled out in Harry's living room, Zayn and Louis on the floor, Harry on the sofa, his arm dangling lazily of the edge. Harry's flatmate works the oddest hours at a radio station, so he's never actually there. It makes Harry's flat the perfect place to hang out and get pissed when they're not in the mood to go out.

"What is this, a job interview?" Harry giggles.

"No, I mean ... do you think you're going to do this forever? Be a drag queen for the rest of your lives?"

"Of course," Louis shoots, flailing his arms dangerously and almost clocking Zayn in the face. "You don't just stop being a queen."

Harry knits his eyebrows together, though, giving the question actual thought.

"Hard to say," he says in his slow and lazy drawl, "no one can tell you what the future brings. But I can't imagine not doing it, if you know what I mean?"

Zayn kind of does, but mostly he doesn't. Whenever he thinks about the future he sees himself doing a lot of things: putting on music, making art, meeting up with the lads, maybe even getting married, but he never sees himself still doing drag in some dingy club.

Make no mistake: he loves being part of the Rude Girls. He loves the shows, the applause, loves having fun on stage with his mates. But he doesn't need it, not the way Louis and Harry do. Sometimes that thought hits him out of the blue and he doesn't know what to do with it.

"What about Ben? He didn't want to come?" he asks, just to change the topic, looking over at Louis.

Louis' flailing stops and his smile dims. "He couldn't make it."

Ah. "Did he say why?"

"Said he had to work," Louis mutters, rolling over to cuddle up against Zayn, burying his nose in the crook of his neck. Zayn didn't bother to remember what Ben does for a living, but he's pretty sure it doesn't require him working on a Friday night. He pulls Louis closer, kissing the top of his head, and pretends he cannot hear the small sigh that escapes Louis' lips.

"Maybe next time, then," Zayn says, trying to sound encouraging.

"Yeah," Louis agrees, but he doesn't seem to believe it, either.

*

"Funny. Did you hear that?

Funny. Yeah, the guy said,

'Honey, You're a funny girl.'

That's me I just keep them in stitches,

Doubled in half

And though I may be all wrong for the guy

I'm good for a laugh ..."

Tommo lets her gaze wander over the audience, staring but not really looking, until she lets out a breathy laugh, shrugs and keeps singing:

"I guess it's not funny

Life is far from sunny

When the laugh is over

And the joke's on you ..."

She looks like she's not really there, curling in on herself and fading into the stage, and that's quite a feat with all the makeup and glitter she's wearing. Her voice is raspier than usual, wavering around the edges of the lyrics, and Zayn has to put down his drink to stop and stare.

"She's singing _Funny Girl_ ," he says and turns to Harriette, "she hasn't done that in over a year. What happened?"

"I'm not sure," she admits with a frown, playing with the ends of her feather boa, "but I think it's that Ben. Must be."

_Must be_ , Zayn quietly agrees, torn between wanting to chase down Ben or to get on that stage and pull Tommo into a hug. He does neither, waiting for her to finish her number and stagger off the stage. She's already a drunk when she finally shows up at the bar; he can tell by the way her eyes are glazed and how she throws herself at Harriette.

"There you are! My two favourite queens!" she drawls, planting a smacking kiss on Harriette's cheek and then yelling at Niall: "drinks for my girls!"

She flops herself onto a barstool and downs the drink Niall places in front of her, ignoring the concerned looks and raised eyebrows she gets. She looks expectantly first at Zayn then Harriette, but he just sits there quietly and the latter can't stop frowning.

"Tommo, don't you think-"

"You're not gonna drink that?" Tommo blurts, not waiting for an answer. She grabs Harriette's drink and downs it, too. Zayn places his hand on her wrist before she can snatch his glass as well.

"What did he do?" he asks, because there's no reason to beat around the bush.

She blinks, swaying visibly on her stool. "Who? Ben?" Her smile twists into something harsh and ugly, and she scoffs: "left me, what else would he do?"

It's not a surprise and that fact itself is sad enough. Still, Zayn feels a pang of guilt and pity, curling his fingers around Tommo's wrist and squeezing lightly. "I'm sorry. I ... should have been nicer to him."

"Nicer?" Harriette snaps "That tosser deserves all the hate we can throw at him. We should sing a number about him, let everyone know what a knob he is.“

"Nah, it's not worth the hassle. And it's my fault, really," Tommo says, her breath hitching a little even as she closes her eyes and leans against Zayn, "he said- said I was too busy mooning over somebody else."

"Did he, now," Zayn says carefully, exchaning a glance with Harriette.

_And was he right?_ he almost wants to ask, but there are things he doesn't dare pushing. Because there's such a thing as respect and friendship. (And maybe a little bit because he's a coward.)

Tommo doesn't answer, exhausted and already dozing off on Zayn's shoulder. He gently caresses Tommo's cheek, sweeping away some of the stray hairs plastered to her sweaty temple. She looks almost peaceful like this, careless, the furrow in her brow gone for tonight. It will be back tomorrow and for quite a while after that. He hates it, hates that she's so miserable, hates that he can't do anything to make her feel better.

_Oh, but you could, couldn't you?_ a tiny voice in the back of his head says.

He ignores it, putting his arm around her shoulder for support. Right now, Tommo can use a friend more than she can use a lover.

"Niall, call us a cab, will you?" he asks softly, gesturing for Harriette to get over and help him carry Tommo. "It's time to get her home."

*

Zayn sways his hips in time to the music, his skirt fluttering around his hips. The number is almost at an end and for a moment he struggles to remember their last moves. He pulls himself together at the last second, doing a quick succession of steps and making only a bit of a balls-up of it.

"Intoxicate me now

With your lovin' now

I think I'm ready now!"

Harriette and Tommo fall in place right next to him, their hands placed on his shoulders, all of them breathing hard. There's the merest moment of silence, the space between the music running out and the audience catching on, and then the crowd goes wild with applause.

Harriette steps forward, blowing kisses at random people and doing another of her silly signature moves. She earns laughter and a hail of catcalls for it. Zayn takes Tommo's hand, twirling her around until she's giggling and swaying. When he stops abruptly, she loses her balance and falls right into his arms.

"They love us," she yells, beaming at him. It's the first time he's seen her laugh since Ben left: an honest laugh, not the fake twist of her lips she puts on to fool everyone else. The sight tugs at something deep in his chest.

"They do," he agrees, waving at the cheering crowd.

"I never want this to end," she says, almost like an afterthought, and Zayn doesn't know what she means. The way his arms are slung around her hips and how she looks up at him, way too open and hopeful? Or the crowd going nuts over them when they step forward and bow?

_Maybe a bit of both_ , he thinks, and then, blinded by spotlight: _what am I doing here?_

This fame isn't his to claim, not when his heart isn't in it half the time. The truth of it hits him like an electric shock, tingling through his nerves and chasing the air out of his lungs. I don't belong here, he thinks and now that the thought is out there, he can't stop tossing and turning it around in his mind. He hears people chanting, sees them clapping, but at the same time it feels oddly surreal and fake.

He gets off the stage in a daze, being led by Tommo or maybe Harriette, and when they both turn to look at him it feels like a weird, lucid dream.

"Zee, you want to hang out at the bar for a while?"

He blinks, then shakes his head, forcing a smile onto his lips. "I'm knackered," he says, hoping he doesn't sound too off. "I think I'm going home."

Tommo throws him a weird look, but Zayn is already inching away, feels himself getting tugged at and swallowed by the crowd. "See you tomorrow, alright?"

He doesn't wait for an answer, turns around before he can see any disappointment or questioning looks. He needs to get home. He needs to think.

*

Zayn slides into the seat across from Liam.

"There you are," he says, placing two pints on the table and trying a encouraging smile. Zayn hasn't figured him out quite yet, but he's trying to get there. Liam's a bit of a nervous one - either that or he's still thinking Zayn's flirting with him - but when he smiles back eventually it seems genuine and sweet.

"Thanks for inviting me."

"I did say I owe you a pint."

"I hardly did anything and we really needed you." Liam looks down at his glass, a little bashful.

"It wasn't just anything," Zayn protests, "thanks to you I might be getting a permanent job. Carol offered to hire me for company events and any other events they're organising for their clients."

"Oh, but that's fantastic!" Liam looks up, beaming, and the charming crinkles around his eyes are back. "So we'll be seeing each other more often in the future, then." Zayn hums and nods, which earns him a frown. "... you don't look very excited about that."

"That obvious, huh?" Zayn says with an apologetic smile.

"Well, I'm still not in tech support, so you won't actually have to see me, if that's what you're worried about," Liam jokes in a way that sounds only mostly like a joke and a bit like he means it.

"No! No, that's not it. At all," Zayn clarifies, because he can literally see Liam retreating back into his shell and that's the last thing he wants. "It's just- Sorry, this was supposed to be a thank you. I didn't want to bother you with my problems."

"I was told I'm a good listener." Liam raises his eyebrows and cocks his head. "Try me."

Zayn considers this for a moment. He usually isn't comfortable with being so open around people he barely knows, but there's just something about Liam that resonates with him, something that makes him think they can actually talk about everything.

"The thing is," he starts carefully, searching for the right words, "if I take up on Carol's offer, I'm going to have to leave my current job."

"That's usually what happens when you get a new job."

"Yeah, but it's not just- there's a certain commitment with where I'm right now. People are going to be disappointed."

He thinks about Harry and Niall, about the Rude Girls, about their growing audience, thinks about Louis. Louis, who is such a beautiful disaster sometimes and who can give the best hugs and who's still in desperate need of a friend. And it's not like Harry and Niall can't fill that job just fine, it's just that Zayn doesn't want them to think he's abandoning them.

"People are going to be hurt," he admits quietly.

Liam seems to ponder this for a moment, taking a sip of his pint. "If they truly care about you, they'll let you go. It's not like you're moving to the other end of the world, is it? You can still be there for them. Just not doing the same job they do."

And he's right, of course, but. _But._

When Zayn doesn't say anything for a while Liam smiles, bumping his foot against Zayn's under the table. "And no offence, but it seems to me like you've already made up your mind anyway."

Zayn blinks, almost surprised but not quite, and he feels like a weight is lifting, like a bra is being loosened after cutting into his skin all night long. Because Liam is right about that, too: he loves Louis and his mates, but he wants to take this chance, so very badly.

"That obvious, huh?" Zayn says once more, only this time he chuckles, a light-hearted sound of relief that bubbles out of him against his own will.

_Well,_ he thinks, even as he bumps Liam's foot right back, and that's that.

*

Louis slumps down on the steps of a house entrance, sighing loudly and lighting up his cigarette. Zayn lit his the moment they stepped out of the club, so he's already halfway through with it. The last one in his pack, he registers with mild annoyance.

"That karaoke song you sang earlier," he asks, "what's it called again?"

Louis sounded particularly lost on stage today, considering he usually tries to keep his insecurities to his drag persona. He thinks people don't know, but Louis reads like an open book if you just bother to learn his language.

"'Torn'. From that Australian singer?"

Zayn hums, just to fill up the silence with something. Louis isn't particularly easy to read right now, his thoughts well hidden behind smoke and an unfathomable stare. It's nagging at Zayn, more than he'd like to admit. He blows out one last cloud of smoke, crunching the stub under his heel.

They can hear the faint sound of Harry bringing the house down with a rendition of Fleetwood Mac's "The Chain". It's the perfect song for his smoky voice and part of Zayn wishes he wasn't out here missing probably one of his best karaoke performances so far. Another part of Zayn keeps reminding him that this is probably the occasion he's been waiting for to get Louis on his own. To tell him about his new job and maybe, hopefully, get his approval.

"Come on, Lou, let me have drag," he says instead, telling himself that he just needs a little bit more nicotine to get his nerves in line.

Louis takes a long drag, inhaling deeply and holding his breath with a thin-lipped smile. His eyes glint and he raises his eyebrows at Zayn like a dare, like an invitation, and Zayn steps forward before he can stop himself.

They do this sometimes when they're smoking weed, but it's the first time Louis offers to shotgun with a normal smoke. Zayn leans in, lips parted, ready to breathe in the smoke Louis is going to blow at him, but before he knows what's happening, Louis presses their lips together for an open-mouthed kiss.

It's not even remotely as sexy as it sounds, harsh when it should be mellow, rushed when it should be comfortable, the smoke passing between them like an unspoken string of words that Zayn doesn't understand. When Louis pulls back, his eyes flash with something that looks terribly like hurt and betrayal.

"You could have told me, you know," he says out of the blue, throwing a bunch of papers at Zayn's chest.

Zayn scoops them up from the ground and notices the logo of Carol's company before he sees anything else. He doesn't need to read the text to know it's about working hours, payment and bonuses. He's gone through it for what feels like a million times.

"Where did you get this?"

"Don't worry, I wasn't snooping. They fell out of your pocket in the dressing room."

"Louis," he says, slowly, and then stops like that's all there is to say.

"Zayn, please. It's fantastic. Isn't that what you always wanted?" Louis' smile is sweet and in stark contrast to the quiet in his voice. It's never good when Louis is quiet. What's worse: he means it. He's _happy_ for Zayn. "I just wish you had told me."

"I was going to. Once I made up my mind about it."

"Please." Louis snorts and gives him a look, one that reminds Zayn of Liam just a couple of days ago. He gets up with a light groan, flinging his stub into the night and patting Zayn's shoulder. "There's nothing to make up your mind about."

And he walks back into the club, his shoulders just a tad too straight, his step just this side of too bouncy, and Zayn's heart breaks just a little at the sight.

*

It was going to be a silly and fake send-off with lots of booze - fake, because Zayn's not really saying goodbye and silly, because he didn't want to make a big deal out of it in the first place. What it turns into is this very real and not at all silly send-off, the only constant that he calculated on being the booze.

They're on their third round of drinks already, but there are no silly giggles, no one is singing, no one is trying to douse random customers in beer. Instead, Harriette looks like her pet dog died and Tommo's pink lips are pressed into a thin line that barely resembles a smile.

"That was quite the show, wasn't it?" Niall tries - bless him - even though he looks muted himself.

"I can't believe that was our last show together," Harriette whines, pulling off her wig and throwing it onto the table, being melodramatic on purpose. Tommo doesn't say anything at all, and perhaps that's the most depressing thing about the whole affair.

Zayn looks around the table, taking in the long faces and it's rotten, that he made them look like this, that he made Tommo, Louis, hurt like this, that he feels a tad miserable himself. He wants to be happy about this, with his three best mates, wants it to end the way it started: drunk and silly and lighthearted ... and that gives him an idea.

He puts down his drink and, clearing his throat, scrambles in his mind for the right lyrics.

"I come home in the morning light

My mother says when you gonna live your life right?"

His voice sounds ridiculously high-pitched and gets a little lost in the crowd's chatter around them, but he keeps going, slowly at first, getting more confident with every second.

"Oh mother dear we're not the fortunate ones

And girls they wanna have fun ..."

He looks over at Harriette whose eyebrows raise slowly in dawning recognition: their first number, the first song they sang on stage together. It was sort of a disaster, their voices out of sync, their moves barely coordinated and Zayn had yet to master the art of dancing (or even walking) in heels. He can see it all flash before Harriette's eyes, can see the exact moment when her pout tips over into a smile, and he cheers inwardly when she opens her lips to sing along:

"... But girls they wanna have fun

Oh girls just want to have ..."

They keep singing, getting louder and more boisterous, and Zayn throws a tentative glance over at Tommo. She's biting her lip, watching them both with a guarded expression.

Harriette leans over, yelling the lyrics into her ear, so Zayn leans in from the other side and does the same. Tommo looks like she can't decide whether to get up and leave, roll her eyes or just give in.

Her eyes lock with Zayn's, like a silent question, and Zayn smiles, soft and a little pleading. It's like a spell is broken. She straightens herself, downs her drink and then screams in time: "Oh girls they wanna have fun!"

Zayn kicks Niall under the table and Niall joins in too, making ridiculous sound effects to go along with their voices. It feels like group therapy, all of them singing, shrieking the chorus at the top of their lungs. Days, maybe weeks of unspoken tension, sadness, excitement yelled out into the night until they're wheezing with laughter.

They're getting weird looks from the neighbour tables, but Zayn doesn't give a fuck. He never wants this moment to end, never wants to let go of either of these idiots, his three best mates. And the best thing is? He doesn't have to. Because this is not goodbye.

*

The dressing room feels surreal and lost in the sunlight and he realises with a sort of perplexity that he was never in here during the day until now. There's always a first time for everything. And a last time as well.

He walks up to his taken spot at the dressing table, grabbing the few belongings he's going to take with him (some of his hairstyling products, a crinkled picture of the Rude Girls stuck to the mirror, a jumper he's been forgetting to take home for ages). He won't need much else of his drag equipment, so he'll leave it to the other girls.

He takes one last look around, a mixed bag of feelings resting inside his chest. It's been a short time, it's been a crazy time, but most of all, it's been a good time. He doesn't regret what he did, is grateful for all that he's learned and experienced, but now it's time to turn a new page.

"Hey." Harry stands in the doorway with a soft smile, looking a little tired from last night. "Trying to disappear quietly like a ninja?"

"I'm not disappearing."

"I know. I know." He runs his hand through his long and messy hair, his smile turning dim and a bit upset. "It's going to feel like it, though."

"Oh, Haz. Come here." Zayn stretches out his arms and Harry rushes forward immediately, hugging him tightly.

"I'm just really going to miss our number," he sniffles against Zayn's neck.

"I know. Me too." Zayn squeezes back fondly, enjoying the hug for a little while. He hesitates before he speaks next, turning the words in his mouth this way and that. "Can you do something for me? Tell Louis-"

"Tell him yourself," Harry says, looking up and nodding over his shoulder. "He's standing right outside. Didn't want to come in, the chicken."

His voice rises extra loud at the last word, probably for Louis to hear. A heartbeat later, Louis shuffles around the corner. He looks hungover and tired like Harry does, but there's a hesitancy to his steps that feels wrong to Zayn. Louis never hesitates, not matter how stupid or ridiculous his choices.

"I'll leave you to it," Harry says with a wink and a quick slap on Louis' arse. Louis glares after him and only tears his gaze away when the door falls shut.

"So," he says, hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders hunched up, trying to sound casual but sounding anything but.

"So." Zayn doesn't say any more, giving Louis the space to get out whatever he needs to say. He owes him that much. Sure enough, Louis steps forward, drawing in a deep breath.

"It's the drag, isn't it," he blurts, eyebrows knitting together. "It always bothered you, the costumes and the make believe."

"That's not true and you know it."

"Then why?" he asks, his lower lip stuck out in a pout. "If it's me ... something I did ..."

There's the hint of a blush on his cheeks and Zayn knows where this is going. He needs it to stop before it gets somewhere they can't get back from, needs Louis to shut up before he gets the wrong ideas. So he catches him by the wrist, pulling him closer and brushing their lips together for the faintest of kisses.

It's nothing like their shared kiss in the back alley: when there was smoke there's only hot breath, when it was rough it's gentle now, when there was anger and confusion, there's fondness now. Zayn doesn't push it, doesn't try to deepen it, holding it just like this.

When he pulls back, Louis looks flustered and dazed like Zayn has rarely seen him before. It's a lovely sight. A sight that he could have everyday, if only he wanted, dared ... and for a short moment, Zayn lets himself acknowledge that thing that's been there between them for a while now, unspoken and unacted upon.

It's not that he hasn't noticed the want in Louis' eyes or the tension between them. It's not that he hasn't thought about it - they could be good together.

It's just that they're so much better as friends.

He brushes his thumb across Louis' jaw, smiling gently, and maybe there's something in his eyes, maybe Louis knows him just too damn well, because he seems to brace himself for whatever comes next. Poor Louis. He's had his heart broken way too many times.

"You're my best mate and I love you," he says, hoping that it conveys what he doesn't know how to say else. "And I love drag, but it's just ... not me."

Louis takes his time to answer, looking around the dressing room like he's looking for the right words. His quick wit usually never fails him and the fact that he's at a loss for words maybe is an answer in itself.

"I love you, too," he simply says after a while, voice soft and a little sad, but not as broken as Zayn feared it might be. "And I guess ... I guess I always knew it was going to be this way."

He doesn't elaborate on what he means: Zayn leaving, or them. Maybe both.

Zayn pulls him in for tight hug, curling around Louis' body, breathing in the scent that he's come to learn and love: a mixture of cigarettes, aftershave and the promise of ridiculous things bound to happen.

"Okay?"

"Okay," Louis says, pinching him in the side, making him jump.

"Twat." He punches Louis in the shoulder, but there's no real force behind it.

"You deserve it for making me quote 'The fault in our stars'."

And they're both grinning, a little stiff and awkward, but that's alright.

Some things need a little space and time, he figures as he leaves the club through the back door, probably for the last time in quite a while. The next time he comes here he's going to be a regular, paying customer, one of the crowd and not standing on the stage. It's going to be weird, but he's looking forward to it as well. He should take Liam here someday.

"Hey," Louis screams, his head popping out of the door, "wanna get pissed at Harry's next Friday?"

His grin feels a little extra bright, stretched over his face like a shield to protect him or to keep his feelings from getting out, but the glint in his eyes is real, and Zayn feels, _knows_ he's going to be alright.

"Course!" he yells over his shoulder, laughing, squinting against the sunlight, bright and golden.

It's not the end.

It's a new beginning.

 


End file.
